


3 Hearts

by stargategeek



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Romance, Love, Maybe - Freeform, Modern AU, Nobody wants them together but MEEEE, Serendipity - Freeform, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: "H-hello.""Petyr?""S-Sansa.""Petyr...I'm leaving..."Thud.





	1. 47

"H-hello."

"Petyr?"

"S-Sansa."

"Petyr...I'm leaving..."

Thud.

~~~~

She looks up from her watch at 10:45 pm.

Sansa looked up at the endless sky from the seat of a worn park bench. It was open and clear, and she felt she could get swallowed by it's massiveness. This was not a view you could find in the city - no, this view you could only get perched on the cliff sides above the sea. A beautiful place she thought, very rural and touristy. Full of little shops and cafes by the wharf where city folk could drink mochas and watch longshoremen haul fish and tackle off boats; smell the fresh salty air, and pretend they lived simple rustic lives.

She only ever visited a few times - a horrible shame, since it was only a two hour bus trip.

Though every time she was here she just walked, as if in search for something - walked and walked and walked until it was time for her to leave.

~~~~

He checks his watch at 11:00 pm.

The last train headed to the city pulled away just seconds before he reached it. He was panting from the frantic jog through the station from where the taxi had dropped him off. His hand just slammed against the window of the door as the train began to pull out and before he could even slow down his legs enough to stop himself from running right off the platform it was gone. He stomped his foot down onto the concrete with a curse.

"Shit!"

~~~~

She checks her watch at 11:15 pm.

The moon is large and still visible from within the brighter town centre. The lampposts are old iron and flow with warm electric light. In some of the trees there are strings of white fairy lights and fresh smelling lilac bushes dapple the street corners of every second street. Sansa prefers it at night, quiet and calm as it is. She feels safe walking down the street, lighting up a cigarette and strolling in the warm last days of summer.

A taxi passes by once or twice, late comers from the bus depot ushering it's tired occupant to the nearest hotel. There were at least three down the road from where she was. Sansa never bothered renting one, she never slept here. Her singular duffel hung about her waist, a jacket neatly folded on top, and inside a sweater, her phone, her wallet, a neck pillow and a toothbrush.

The cigarette burns slightly, in the oddly comforting way she's come to expect. Lungs can handle only so much fresh air, she reasons. The lower barometric pressure, and the sea salt is much too foreign to her city lungs. The smoke reminds her that the ground is beneath her feet, and earth is where she must stay.

She hears the screech of wheels coming around the corner and pauses at the light where she stands, cigarette dangling between her fingers.

She pays no attention to the driver, a cabbie like any other; a brimmed hat brought low over his face and the streetlights casting shadows over his countenance. Any curiosity she could've had about the man is instantly dashed in favour of his passenger. She sees grey before she sees green, and he too looks at her with the same sort of curiosity. His head tilts slightly to the right in regard of her, like he's seen her before...and she, she feels an odd sense of familiarity herself, though she can't place it.

He smiles, another curious thing. The black hair of his beard barely shifts with the slight articulation of his mouth, and the smile itself, though warm and unassuming, doesn't quite make it past his nose. The eyes though, she is drawn to them, in the same way she thinks a painter is drawn to his muse.

He waves, a simple jerk of the hand. She waves back, a simple wiggle of her fingers. Her cigarette smoulders, sadly quite forgotten.

The light finally changes and the car takes off, but those green eyes stay until his head can twist no more and falls away behind the pane of glass. Sansa tosses her smoke and continues walking, ready to chalk the moment up to the whimsy of the night. She's barely got her hand in her bag again, fishing for her lighter, when she comes upon the same cab, now parked on the side of the street, and it's occupant climbing out.

She sees him, wearing a dark navy pea coat and simple black pants. His black hair shines like woven onyx in the lamplight, and his one bag is slung over his right shoulder as he exits the car on to the pavement before her.

Sansa stops, compelled to by some force - at least to get one last good look at his face and his sad green eyes.

He turns and stops as well, his eyes meeting hers under hooded eyelids. A handsome man, to be sure, his age only given away by the very distinguished grey streaks emanating from his temples. His lips crumple slightly in what seems to be a slightly embarrassed smirk. He takes a step forward and stops again.

"Excuse me," he finally says. His voice is soft, a mixture of gravel and smoke. "You got a light?"

"Uh, yeah," she blinks, coming out of her trance with a splash of cold realization that she was standing there staring at a perfect stranger.

"Thanks," he fishes into his left pocket with his free hand then sighs, his shoulders slumping. "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette too?"

Sansa laughs a little and nods, reaching in her bag for the requested items.

"That'll be a dollar-fifty, though," she smirks handing him the cigarette.

"Fair enough," he grins as well, reaching into his pants pockets and pulling out his wallet.

"I'm...I'm kidding," Sansa feels the warmth of a blush creep along her cheeks.

"It's okay, take it," he hands her a single bill. "Think of it as a donation towards your next pack."

Sansa looks at him then at the bill in his outstretched hand, then back at him. He still smiles, genial - the lights flicker off the black of his hair.

"Alright," she snatches up the bill with an almost childlike grin.

"Do you live around here?" He asks as he places the cig in his mouth.

"No, not really, though I know the area very well, you could say."

His hands cup around the striped grey and black lighter with the wolf insignia on the side. Her favorite.  
The lighter sparks and sputters, sparks and sputters, and he grunts, shifting his grip to better accommodate the delicate balance it takes to get it to light. Sansa watches him struggle for a few seconds before stepping between them and lighting her hands over his, guiding them through the precise motions and sparking a bright little flame between them. His eyes remain on her the entire time, even as he dips his head to ignite the end of his cigarette. The inhale, the hold, the exhale up into the night sky, it is all very handsome, and she likes the smell of the smoke mixed with the slight mint smell wafting from him.

Sansa takes a sudden step back, realizing she was far too close to him and staring once again.

"I only ask because I was wondering if you knew where the Hotel Highgarden was?"

He must've read a slight look of wariness in her features, quickly adding "I forgot to ask for directions from my driver. If you could just point the way..."

"It's just down that street about five blocks, you can't miss it," Sansa blurts out.

He nods, and takes another drag from his cigarette.

"If you like, I'm headed in the same direction..."

He looks at her again and smiles.

"May I walk with you?"

"Sure," she shrugs nonchalantly, but cannot quite keep a smile from cresting the sides of her mouth.

He nods and sticks the cigarette just inside his lips as he adjusts the strap on his bag to a more comfortable position and follows. They fall into step easily, and neither make a sound.

~~~~

He looks up from his watch at 11:15 pm.

For a second he thinks she's a ghost, and his heart nearly stops beating. The flash of red beneath the golden halo of a single street lamp. Her skin is pale in the light, her legs nearly disappearing into the pavement, causing his eyes to momentarily convince him she is floating. An apparition of a figure he'd long pushed out of his mind. And there she was. The first time he's returned to this quaint little town in several years, on this night. It had to be more than a coincidence.

The car pulls closer and he sees that she is, in fact, very much real. Legs and all. Walking in the warm summer air. All too human for such a spectre of his long faded and miserable youth. A cigarette dangling in her hand. He can't peel his gaze away from her, from the long cascading wild bloody hair, and those eyes that held the wisdom and all the wariness of the world encased in ice.  
It honestly takes him a moment to realize that she has been staring at him, just as long as he her, and the expression on her face is one of odd familiarity. He can't help but smile, wondering what he reminded her of, and what a coincidence that two strangers, on this night, and in this town, could be overcome by the same sense of kinship.

He waves. She returns it. If feels as though the entirety of space and time had frozen just long enough for him to see her. But with the blink of one green light it caught right back up with him, and the car began to move again. Pulling him from this fairy, this kin spirit that had floated out from his past and made new in his present.

He watches her drift into the shadows of the night, and his feels a slight constriction in his chest. He won't let her get away this time.

"Driver, stop here please."

~~~~

She checks her watch at 11:37 pm.

He had asked her to wait as he went inside the hotel. Sansa could see him through the window, conversing lightly with the concierge. Confirming his reservation, probably, or perhaps making a new one.

She noticed the way he kept glancing back to her when he wasn't speaking to the man at the front desk; he smiled at her when she caught his eye. She couldn't help herself from smiling back, though a nagging voice in the back of her mind warned her not to lead him on.

He turned back to the concierge, saying something, and shaking his head. The man nodded in response and then disappeared.  
He picked up his shoulder bag and walked back outside, slinging the strap over his head and tucking the bag under his arm.

"Did you get a room?" she asked.

"No, I...no," he ducked his gaze a little. "I'm not very tired, would you mind walking with me a little?"

There were butterflies in her stomach. "Sure."

"Unless you..." he continued.

"No, I...I like to walk," she reached into her bag and dug out another cigarette. She lit it and held it out for him to take. He stared at her hand for a moment then took the proffered cigarette.

They began walking again. A leisurely pace, side by side.

"You seem to know this area very well," he said handing the cigarette back after taking a quick drag.

"I grew up here," her fingers brushed his as the cigarette passed between them. She felt a small jolt from the sudden contact, though tried to pass it off as a shiver.

"You cold?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It doesn't bother me, I kind of like it."

"I hate being cold," he laughed, a handsome sound. "Never liked it, even when I was young. I was a summer child."

"Where did you grow up?" she passed him the cigarette.

"Here and there," he shrugged, waving off the cigarette, so she took another drag and tossed it. "I actually lived around here for a few years of my tempestuous youth."

"Really?" she stopped to look at him.

"Oh, I haven't been back here in ages," he looked around. "It both looks exactly the same as it did then and has changed completely. I left here when I was fifteen."

"Why did you leave?"

He smiled, though it once again did not reach his eyes. He did not respond immediately and that was all she needed to know.

"I understand."

"Why did you leave?" he asked.

She looked at him in much the same way he had, and the silence between them held a warmth of understanding very few had shared with her. Their pain, whatever it was, though different was similar. And in that moment she felt as if she'd known him her whole life.

They continued walking.

"So, what do you do?" she broke the companionable silence between them.

"I'm a tax auditor," he said it so bluntly she almost laughed.

"No mystery about you then."

"What you see is what you get," he gestured to himself with his arms.

"Not really," she shrugged. "I mean, on the surface, yeah, but in your eyes..." she drifted off, shaking her head and picking up her pace. He caught up to her after a moment.

"And you?"

"I'm...between jobs at the moment," her ears felt a little hot and she averted his gaze.

"Unemployed?"

"Sort of...it's hard to explain."

"Ok," he smirked.

They turned off the main way and began walking through the quaint little side streets. He followed her lead, allowing her to weave them on an aimless winding path. Bouts of small talk followed by bouts of comfortable silence and the occasional shared cigarette.

"How old are you?" he asked after they had both been silent for awhile.

She didn't speak, pursing her lips in a knowing little smirk. For some reason she felt that telling her true age would shatter whatever tenuous magic surrounded them this night. He seemed to agree; nodding and adjusting the strap of his bag in his shoulder.

"And you?" she asked, almost predicting that his answer would be the same. She laughed when he gave her a rather sheepish grin.

"That old, huh?"

He laughed this time. He mustn't laugh that often, it was such a rough, uncertain sound. He stopped and looked up at the door of a passing house. The number above the door caught his interest, and he stared at it warily, as though it were pointing a gun at him. 47.

A cat in some nearby alleyway pounced on to the lid of a metal garbage can, a loud bang resounded like a gun shot around them. Sansa had been startled but not nearly as much by the sound than his reaction to it. Quickly darting into the doorway, back pressed up against the wall, hand coming to his chest as he gasped and spluttered in shock.

"Are you alright?" she asked, noticing he had lost some colour, and his breathing was laboured.

"Yeah, yeah," he sucked in a deep breath to calm himself. "Just surprised."

Sansa looked up at the number once more, all of it, all of him suddenly aligning with perfect clarity in her mind. "Today is your birthday," she looked at him, still clutching his chest. "You're 47."

"Yes," he gave her one of his sad smiles. "Well, actually...what time is it..." he checked his watch. "Midnight. Yes, so I am."

Sansa nodded and began walking again, already fishing in her bag for her lighter. The least she could do was give him another cigarette to celebrate, or have him blow out the flame on her lighter and make a wish.  
She stopped walking when she noticed his footsteps didn't follow. She turned, and he simply stood there, in the middle of the street, staring.

She turned to face him, lighter in hand. She couldn't say for sure but his eyes danced with a dark little light, a hunger...or perhaps it was desperation.

Sansa thought, at least in this moment, that he hadn't really looked his age until now. The grey streaks cut across his temples like white fire burning through a dark forest. This man was losing a battle to time and he hadn't much resources to withstand it. He had no ring on his finger, nor any look in his eye that belied anyone was waiting back home for him to celebrate his birthday. That was why he found himself here, at midnight, standing with her in this side street, staring at her with need.

The need to not be alone. Like she felt.

Before she could comprehend he was taking large strides to meet her where she stood, close enough to almost be touching, but not. He leant in as if to kiss her, a kiss that would've surely disintegrated them both. She was ready, she thought, she could take it. Utter oblivion with him. That is until he leant a fraction closer and the enormity of it all threatened to make her scream, him too, because he immediately pulled back, not touching, barely breathing.

"Let's keep walking," he whispered. She nodded, not able to form words.

~~~~

_Flick. Flicker. Flick._

The sun just peeked over the horizon, turning the pale grey corners of the sky pink and orange. The sleepy little town that dotted the landscape, and its beautiful little corner of the coast, the grey waters, and the dull dirty copper of the cobblestones, were still asleep, even though her, and her companion were not.

_Flicker. Flick. Flick._

She counted. 32 times he'd flicked that lighter, cupping the warm little flame in the palm of his hand. She imagined he would stop at 47.

_Flicker. Flick. Flicker._

He hadn't been able to get it to light consecutively one right after the other. The trigger always caught, or the spark would sputter out. They had run out of cigarettes hours ago.

She watched him flick the lighter again.

"My father died," she heard herself saying. He paused a moment, then flickered the lighter again. "Along with my brothers and sister. Car crash. It's only my mum and I now. I come to visit her here often, but I can't stand to stay here very long. I can't sleep, I just end up walking all night until I have to leave." She looked out to the sun, still slowly ascending over the quaint little town. "I'm not a very good daughter. Mum wants to pretend that it never happened, like they didn't exist, and I don't want to live like that. Pretending something hasn't happened when it has. It kills me."

He flicked the lighter for the 47th time. He cupped the little flame in his palm and looked at it for a moment before he released the trigger and let it fade. His hands dropped and he finally looked at her.

"I was fostered here as a young boy,” the words left his mouth with such a dull finality, he might as well have said he killed someone, it wouldn't have mattered. "They were the closest things I’d ever had to a family...it did not end well." He kept his gaze out the the pink tipped horizon, the look on his face as desolate as the feeling in her chest.

"Is that why you left?" she shifted on the hard bench beneath them.

"One of the reasons...I don't know, I just never had a reason to come back to this place...until now."

His hand, warm from the lighter reached up and cupped her cheek. His thumb dragged across her skin in small, soothing circles.

“Do you-“ he started to say.

“Yes,” she replied instantly. Whatever the question was, the answer was yes.

He smiled at that, a bewildered sigh escaping him like a breath that had been held for too long. He laughed.

Her hand crept from where it lay pressed against her thigh to his hand, lying limply in the space between them. His palm opened automatically to her prodding fingers, allowing her to fit her fist just inside, their fingers lacing.

She said nothing. He said nothing. They watched the sun come up.

~~~~

“I want to see you again,” he whispered against her.

The train came pulling up to the station. He was close enough to touch her, though he held himself barely a breath away. She wanted to touch him too.

“I want to see you too,” she smiled at him.

The train whistled, and he looked as if he dreaded boarding it.

“Thursday. I could come Thursday. Meet you up at our bench. Please, say that you’ll be there,” there was an unmasked note of desperation in his voice.

“I won’t be here. I leave today.”

His face flashed with pain; it pained him not to be able to see her, and it pained her not to be able to see him.

“Friday,” she whispered, clutching his hands. “I’ll come to you on Friday. To the city. Will you meet me?”

“Of course, yes, absolutely,” he nodded emphatically. “Let me give you my card...”

“No,” she held fast to his hands. “The stairs outside the red keep - no! The fountain! The fountain of the Mother in Godswood Park. Meet me there at 4 o’clock.”

The train screeched on its brakes, the smoke billowing out the top.

“Let me at least give you my number, in case anything should happen.”

Sansa shook her head. “I will be there, 4 o’clock. I trust you will be there.”

“Train to King’s Landing. All passengers please board the train.”

He looked at the train, almost in a panic, willing it to give him just a few more moments with her.

“Go,” she lightly shoved him, her fingers linger just at the edge. She didn’t want him to go either.

“I don’t even know your name,” he clung to her fingertips.

“I will tell you on Friday. Now go, before you miss your train,” she said with an assertive voice she could only barely muster. She was a heartbeat away from jumping on that train with him and running away forever.

“Last call boarding the train!” The conductor yelled.

He nodded, scratching the back of his head and stepping away from her. “I will be there, I promise.”

“So will I.”

He smiled bashfully, then turned, walking towards the train doors. He stuck his hand in his pocket to retrieve his ticket, then spun around suddenly.

“I forgot!” he held up her lighter in his palm. “Your lighter!” he moved to come back to her, but it was too much. If he came back nothing could stop her from leaving with him. She was determined. If they were meant to be together he would be there on Friday. That was the deal.

“Go! You’ll miss your train. I’ll get it back from you on Friday. Keep it safe for me until then!”

He smiled once again, nodded. “Until Friday then.”

He stepped off the platform just in time to make it into the train before the doors closed.

Sansa sighed, feeling a pang run through her. The immediate effect of his absence on her was startling.  
The train began to pull away, and with it went a piece of her soul. Like a prayer, she found herself uttering, “look back, look back, look back,” over and over again under her breath.

As if he could hear her over the screech of the trains wheels, and the roar of its engine, he turned back to face her. Smiling that odd way that he does, caused her heart to lurch in her chest. She can’t stop herself from smiling in response as she lifts her hand to wave at him once more. He returns her wave, her lighter still in his hand.


	2. Certainty

Sansa arrived at the last house on Winterfell Lane at 9:15am. Chilled from the brisk morning dew, yet warmed from the niggling sense of joy in her chest. Her wayward life had now focalized to one concrete certainty.

_Friday. Friday. Friday._

The front door opened with ease, without the use of the spare key, which could only mean one thing.

Sansa dropped her bag on the floor in the front hall and stepped through the double wide French doors that partitioned the entrance from the living room. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly in the mostly silent house; a sound that would never feel right in this place.

The kitchen was through a white archway connecting the living room to the dining room, and a half-wall in steely blue. Through the little pane-less window, peeking through to the other side, Sansa could see her, Cat, sitting in the breakfast nook.

She entered the kitchen without much preamble and made a bee-line for the coffee machine.

“Out all night,” the older woman muttered dryly over the rim of her mug.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk,” Sansa answered just as dryly, not bothering to look up from the machine with its vast array of functions and settings.

“You went out at 7.” Her words were accompanied by the soft tinkling of a spoon against the inner ceramic walls of her mug. Even the cutlery could convey her mother’s disappointment.

“I met someone,” Sansa kept her tone casual, despite the way her stomach fluttered and the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Someone?”

“Yeah,” she reached over to the nearest cupboard and pulled out an equally large mug in which to promptly drown herself in. If it were only for the flashes of all that had taken place the night before, and this morning, that kept her feeling as though she were walking on air. She could still picture his eyes and smell that faint waft of spearmint on him. “Just an old friend.” She allowed herself the smallest smile.

“Oh?” Her tone shifted, now decidedly curious. “Anyone I would know.”

“No, you don’t know them.”

The spoon clinked against the mug again.

“And you spent the whole evening with this person?”

Sansa smiled once again, remembering the warmth of the rising sun on her face and the way his hand had cupped around hers.

“We just walked all over and talked,” Sansa sighed. “I saw them to the train station this morning.”

“Oh.” Another clink. She took a long sip of her coffee before setting it down and rising from her seat. She quietly padded with her mug and her plate over to the sink and placed them inside. “Are you hungry? Can I make you breakfast?”

The coffee machine dinged, signalling the completion of its task. Sansa immediately took the full pot and filled her mug. She drunk a large gulp of it upon instant, ignoring the scorching burn on her tongue and her throat. It felt good; needed.

“Actually, Mum,” Sansa finally said, placing her mug down on the counter. “I have to get back. There’s an auction down at Flea Bottom this afternoon, and we have a new shipment coming in tomorrow. Lysa’s gonna need my help with all that, so...”

“I see. I can give you a ride to the depot if you’d like.”

Sansa looked down at the floor. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s no trouble. I feel bad, you know. You coming down here, and it feels like we barely spent any time with each other.”

“I’ll come back.”

“Anyways, it’s ridiculous for you to have to take a cab when I have a perfectly working car sitting right in the drive. And what with your trip coming up too, probably should save every dollar you’ve got.”

Sansa said nothing, only returned her mouth to the rim of the cup and taking a hesitant swallow. The coffee tasted bitter against her tongue; she put the mug down on the counter suddenly losing the stomach for it.

“You’re right,” she muttered, staring at her feet.

“You and Harry must be excited,” Cat continued, prying in that soft motherly way.

Sansa felt her fingers tighten over the edges of the counter. It was all too much. Saying his name was just too much.

“The bus leaves at 10:30, so I...”

“Of course,” Cat’s smile was tight, especially in the lines around her eyes. “I’ll grab my keys.”

“I just need to grab the rest of my things, I’ll only be a moment.”

“Ok,” Cat nodded, turning to wash the few dishes that were in the sink. With her back turned Sansa took the moment to escape, leaving her half-drunk coffee on the counter.

The stairwell leading to the upper floor had a looming emptiness about it. The meticulously placed picture frames were a hollow replacement for the warm smiles and bright summer days, vacations and school portraits, a whole family posed together, laughing on the floor where all the kids had piled up onto the parents. All gone, the memories too painful to relive every moment one went up and down the stairs. Instead there were birds, and flowers, a lovely little landscape, cold and distant, yet not so barren and empty had the wall been left bare.

It would be different soon.

_Friday. Friday. Friday._

Sansa picked her bag up from where she and dropped it and climbed the stairs quickly and quietly, so as not to disturb the ghosts. Her room was the first on the left, a relic of childhood that surprisingly held very little sentiment. She dropped her bag onto the still-made bed and stood still. Her childhood bedroom felt like a museum piece now; everything covered by a thin layer of dust, not to be touched. Inside one of the drawers in her nightstand she found her spare lighter and a full pack - her back up. Her phone rested on the top of the nightstand - right where she left it - and blinked warningly.

She fished out a cigarette and lit it, taking her phone to the window seat and cracking the window open, letting the smoke drift out. Tentatively her fingers unlocked the screen and her eyes were filled with unread messages.

_Sansa talk 2 me._

_Where r u?_

_Sansa?_

_I’m sorry._

_Gnite babe. C u tmrow?_

Sansa blew smoke into the crisp morning air. She had almost forgot. She almost forgot everything last night. The thought of those sad green eyes brought a smile to her face. She looked down at the lighter in her hand, it was her spare lighter, not her favorite - the one that she had given to him. She closed her eyes and sighed, thinking of her stranger.

She looked back down at the lighter, a sudden feeling of conviction coursing through her, causing her to snuff out her cigarette without a second thought. The pack of cigarettes unceremoniously dumped into the trash and the lighter stuffed into a drawer in the nightstand.

Her mind was full of the man with her favorite lighter in his hands. If it was meant to be it would be, she told herself. If he could wait then so could she. It wouldn’t be long now.

_Friday. Friday. Friday._

~~~~

Lysa spotted her the moment she entered into the auction hall, silently waving her over. Her jacket was draped over the chair next to hers, which she quickly removed to show that she had been saving it.

The auction had already begun, the room quiet save for the auctioneer.

“I’m sorry I’m late, did I miss anything?” Sansa whispered as she climbed into the spare chair.

“It only started a few minutes ago. This is only the third item.”

“Anything good?”

Lysa gave her a soft smile and shook her head. She handed her the numbered paddle. “Nothing seemed right. I was to nervous to bid on anything. You’re the one with the eye.”

Sansa gently rested her hand on her Aunt’s arm. “We’ve talked about this.”

Lysa averted her gaze. “I know, I know.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the program with all the items listed. “But I did circle ones of interest.”

Her smile was coy.

Sansa smiled proudly at her, taking the program. She flipped it open, finding the first circle. “Hmm.” She flipped to the next one, examining it thoroughly. “No. No.”

With every “hmm” and “ehh” she could feel Lysa withering beside her. The pieces she’d chosen were lovely, but on their budget they couldn’t afford just any old piece. It had to be the right one.

Then she saw it.

“This.” She handed Lysa the program, pointing at the highlighted piece. A baroque style mirror with gold etching.

Lysa sat up. “You like this one?”

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s not too much?”

“It’s perfect,” Sansa spoke with such determination Lysa couldn’t help but nod her head in agreement.

It was listed as item 47. Her heart sang a little. It was a sign, she could feel it. She needed this mirror; she was meant to have it.

They sat through the biddings, occasionally throwing up the paddle on bids, just for fun. Lysa had to smother her mouth from letting out a squeal, when she bid 10,000 on a set of ivory dragon door handles, so gaudy no one of taste would buy them. They eventually went for 22,000 to a collector of Targaryen memorabilia.

There was a small recess for the bidders to refresh their drinks. Sansa found herself drifting to the exit out of habit, this was normally the time she would duck outside for a smoke, but her feet stopped her, reminding herself of her vow. God, it had only been a few hours since they had parted at the train - it felt like years. She’d never longed for someone so much. How was she going to survive another day of this?

After the recess they were back in the hall with Item No. 45. Only two more and it would be theirs.

The two bids were sold with alarming efficiency, and soon, the handlers were bringing out the mirror from the holding room, setting up the piece on the stand next to the auctioneer. Sansa’s hand slipped into Lysa’s grasp, squeezing tightly. It was more perfect than she even realized.

The gold frame was of carved weirwood, a rare white grain with red veins, giving the mirror a bleeding, living quality, with gold leaf lovingly painted into its lines and edges. At the upper left corner sat a beautiful white dove with a bleeding red eye, and in the right bottom corner it’s lover, a sparrow? No! A mockingbird. A small white mockingbird with flecks of gold in its tail.

Sansa’s heart thumped in her chest. Her heartbeat echoed in the reflection of this living mirror, as though it were a lost part of her now returned.

The bidding started at 500. Sansa raised her paddle. “1000 to the lovely lady from Vale Antiquaries.”

Another bid. Another. 5000. Sansa lifted her paddle. “6000 to Vale.”

Seven thousand, eight thousand, nine thousand. Sansa lifted her paddle. “Ten thousand!”

Lysa looked over at her worriedly. “Sansa, that’s the top of our budget, we can’t go over any more than that.”

Sansa was as calm as the night before a thunder storm. “Trust me, Lysa. I’ll make it work.”

She had to have that mirror, her life depended upon it.

The bidding began to trail off. The interest in the piece waning. Sansa knew, she could feel it in her bones. Everyone knew this mirror belonged to her.

“SOLD! To the lovely lady from Vale Antiquaries for fifteen thousand. Thank you ma’am.”

Lysa sat in shock. “Sansa, that was our entire budget.” The poor woman was stunned.

Sansa leant over and kissed her cheek. “Believe me Aunt Lysa, it was worth it.”

“But...but where are we going to find the extra five thousand?”

Sansa smiled. “Don’t worry about that, I always leave room in the budget for more than you think. Trust me, it’s there. A piece like that is once in a lifetime, Lysa. Once in a lifetime. When it comes to you, you cannot pass it up.”

Sansa gathered her coat and bag from the floor, taking the folded program from her lap and the half-drunk overpriced bottle of water beside her and stuffing it inside.

“I’m going to check on our prize. Stay and watch the rest of the bids, it’s always good business sense to know what the competition is after. I’ll talk to you later?”

Lysa, still in a stunned silence could do little else but nod her head.

Sansa quietly made her way out of the auction hall, careful not to disturb the other bidders with her escape. Just beyond the hall was the display room, where all the auctioned items were being set out to be viewed after the auction was over. Her number and business ID were shown to the handler positioned at the podium just inside the door. “Ah, the mirror.” The man smiled, leading her over to where the mirror rested underneath a white cloth. “A very fine piece, ma’am.”

Sansa smiled. “It is.”

“I’m sure it will be the perfect centre piece for any lucky person’s collection.”

He carefully lifted the cloth to reveal the mirror underneath. Sansa couldn’t help the soft gasp that left her lips.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Sansa traced her finger over the delicate crimson vein in the centre of the mockingbird’s back, like a bloody gash.”

“Weirwood is said to have various mystical properties. It’s been used by various pagan religions for centuries. It is striking to say the least. Almost like it’s...”

“Alive,” Sansa finishes for him, her eyes meeting his in the mirrors reflection.

“Indeed, ma’am.” The handler swallowed nervously. “Legend has it, the two birds represent two halves of a single soul kept apart by time and space. But when one looks into the mirror they are connected. One must be careful though, this mirror is known to steal hearts.”

Sansa smiled. “Thank you,” she said courteously, returning her gaze back to the mirror.

The handler took that as his leave - tapping his heels together, and bowing his head, a well-trained gesture that accompanied such high-end auction houses like this one. Flea Bottom at one time had been the ghetto of the city, but now, in its modern times it had become the hotbed of fashion and art. And the Flea Bottom Auction House, despite it’s name, could rival Sotheby’s.

Sansa lifted her eyes to stare at her reflection in the mirror. It’s dove and mockingbird watching her with their bloody little eyes. She felt akin to them, and they with her. Her eyes slipped closed. Those eyes turned green.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

_Friday. Friday. Friday._

~~~~

It was around 8:00pm when she stepped out of the elevator on to the familiar floor.

The corridor was quiet, save for the hum of the fluorescents, one that had a particular buzz like a bee was stuck behind the glass trying to get out.

She checked her phone for text messages, secretly hoping there was one saying: “out 4 a pint, B home l8.”

It was better this way. Him not being here. It’d be easier - easier than trying to explain.

She fumbles around for the set of keys in her coat pocket. She kept two sets. One which had her work keys, the van keys, the key for the storage locker, the key to her gym locker, the key to the safe, her mother’s house keys, and the bike lock key. The other, was to this apartment. She held both sets in either palm. Two separate lives.

He had bought her the key chain. A bear and an owl holding a patchwork heart. He thought it was cute, she thought it was oddly fitting. Two unlike animals trying to hold together a broken trinket. Before she hadn’t had the security to leave, but now, in the wake of certainty, she could not fathom staying a moment longer.

She opened the door slowly, peeking her head through to survey the apartment. It was still, no sound. She looked over to the shoe rack in the front coat closet. Her boots, his steel-toes, her sandals, his moccassins, her sneakers, his -  
They were gone. His sneakers were gone.

She feels a wave of relief wash through her. Thank god. There was no time to waste though, he could be back any minute. Perhaps only gone down to the Mac’s for a pack of smokes. She didn’t even shut the door.

Her suitcase and bag were not hard to find. He had them sitting in the closet for when she was ready. Ready for a trip she had never felt good about to begin with, but now it didn’t matter. She would not be going. At least, not with him.

She tore her clothes off their hangers, doing a rough fold and stuff. All her socks and underwear were fished out of their drawers and shoved into the large bag.

Just take what you need. Take what you can’t leave behind. Nothing else matters. Nothing but Friday.

Her laptop was still in the living room on the futon where she left it. Her collection of cds would have to be forfeit. Her oversized mugs as well.

She fit everything she could into those two pieces of luggage and a few things she stuffed into her bag.

Almost there. Leave now. Almost free.

She slung the bag over her shoulder and began wheeling the large case to the door. She should’ve called a cab ahead of time. She fished her key and it’s gaudy keychain for the last time out of her pocket. She would leave it with Cecil at the front desk. He would make sure it got back to him. With a note. She’d leave a note for him with Cecil. She had a piece of paper and a pencil in her bag somewhere.

She was so busy fishing through her bag she didn’t not hear the footsteps coming from behind her. She did not register the shift in the air. The sign of life.

“Sansa?”

She froze, her eyes coming to the sneakers on his feet.The office. Of course he’d been in his office. Why the hell didn’t she check? How many times had she told him not to wear them in the apartment. That they scuffed the hardwood, and left dusty prints on the linoleum. How many times?

“You going somewhere?” he asked.

Sansa dropped the bag from her shoulder, letting it slump to the floor with a deafening clunk.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, so she looked at the floor, at her hands, at anything other than him. Once she did, he’d know. He’d know it was over, that there was someone else, that she didn’t love him anymore. So she sat down on her suitcase, hands in her lap and looked at the floor. The owl and bear looked up at her from the keychain in her hand, and the little patchwork heart never looked so in disrepair.

“Harry...” she started to say, but there was no easy way to explain this. No way to tell the connection she’s made to this absolute stranger, and how her whole future was laid out for her, beginning with Friday at four o’clock.

There was no way to explain all of that in a way that would make sense. Not to Harry.

So she went with the simplest explanation she could think of.

Her gaze lifted from the floor to meet his.

“I’ve met someone.”

~~~~

The phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Sansa, it’s late. What’s wrong?”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, you just don’t usually call at this hour.”

“It’s not too late, is it?”

“No, not at all. Can I help you? You sound...”

“Harry and I had a row. Can I stay with you?”

A pause.

“Uhh, ye-yes, of course. Stay as long as you need.”

“I’ll be there in a half hour.”

“Where are you, maybe we can come get you?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be there soon. I’ll catch a cab.”

“O-ok. Nestor doesn’t mind.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be there soon.”

“Ok.”

“Thanks Aunt Lysa.”

~~~~

Sansa stood out front the quaint little townhouse at 10pm. Her luggage in hand, breathing in the scent of lavender and fresh night air.

It had not been easy. She could still hear his words rattling around in her head - their hysterical notes of desperation and despair hidden behind the rage.

_“You bitch! You fucking bitch! Why are you doing this to me?”_

It would’ve been better had he just let her leave, but Harry was never one to let things go.

Sansa knocked on the door and waited. She heard muffled voices, and the groan of footsteps before the door opened.

“Hey,” Lysa said softly, her faced dotted with concern. She noted the two large pieces of luggage and the bag. “This looks like more than just a row. What happened?”

Sansa shivered, feeling suddenly very cold. “Tea?”

Lysa quickly ushered her and her bags inside.

“I have a bed made up for you in the den.”

Down the hall Sansa could hear the tv on low. Nestor was still up then.

“Let’s go to the kitchen where we can talk.”

Lysa helped her push her suitcases into the downstairs den and they walked, arm-in-arm into the little galley kitchen. As Lysa went about fixing the tea, Sansa perched herself up on the counter, allowing her feet to dangle above the floor.

The cookie jar was lowered from atop the fridge and they were soon commiserating over oatmeal chocolate chip and spiced ginger tea.

Lysa was patient, waiting till Sansa had made it halfway through her second cookie before clearing her throat expectantly.

“So...?”

Sansa swallowed the bit of cookie threatening to lodge itself in her throat and washed the rest down with a swig of tea.

“So.” She said in a way of finality.

“I can’t tell if you’re upset or not.”

Sansa took another bite.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?”

Lysa waited, not saying anything in response.

“I can’t even explain it,” Sansa sighed heavily. “He’s...he’s just so wonderful I could die.”

“Harry?”

“No. Not Harry.”

“Oh.”

A look of understanding came over Lysa’s sharp features.

“It’s not like that, we...I haven’t done anything. It was just...what can I say it was...alignment. Like everything in my life before Now was just slightly off-kilter and now...”

Sansa blushed. “I sound like a crazy person.”

“Are you in love with this person?” Lysa asked.

“I don’t know, I...I think so. I feel like I’ve been looking for him my entire life, and now that I’ve found him...”

Sansa took another sip of tea.

“It was never going to work anyway. Whatever problems we had, and there were always problems. Crossing the ocean was never going to fix it. Our problems would’ve just jumped into our luggage and come over with us. Just there, there would fewer places for me to run.”

Lysa leant her back against the counter, her brow furrowed in thought.

“So, you are not going then?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sansa laughed, an uneasy, but somewhat liberated feeling. A burst of untapped excitement blossomed somewhere in her chest. “But I will have a better idea soon. Friday.”

“What’s happening on Friday?”

The blossom spread like a flood from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes.

“Everything.”

Lysa continued to sip her tea, but only barely managed to hide her pleased smile behind the rim of her cup. Sansa couldn’t care less - she hopped off the counter and embraced the woman who had become as close as a sister to her these past few years. Grateful for her confidence.

“I should get some sleep. Our mirror is going to be delivered to the shop in the morning. I know exactly where to put it.”

Sansa put her mug in the sink and left Lysa with a simple goodnight. The pull out bed was already made up with sheets and a thick, warm quilt, as Lysa had mentioned. Sansa peeled off her pants and shucked off her bra and climbed into bed wearing nothing but her shirt and panties. A part of her was aware that she should not feel as she does - that she should be in some sort of mourning for the utter collapse of her relationship with Harry, or failing that, somewhat affected by their altercation at least. His words still clamoured in her memory like a ringing bell. Yet, as she lay there in the dark she knew no tears would fall for Harry or his harsh words. In her heart they were merely unsettled business that had now been settled. She was free now, and in a days time she would be with him. What would happen after that remained to be discovered. All she knew is that she had to be at that fountain on Friday at four o’clock. If nothing else, that was her certainty.

_Friday. Friday. Friday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, someone’s got a case of Petyr fever. Watch out, it might be contagious!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one.
> 
> Lysa might seem a little OOC for some. For this fic I’ve decided to not have her be the crazy bitch, and let her have a softer more vulnerable side. Don’t get me wrong though, she will still get in our lovebirds’ way. As Lysa is wont to do.
> 
> Next up: It’s Friday! Friday! Gotta get down on Friday! *ducks thrown shoes* Sorry to flare up the Rebecca Black PTSD. I will make up for it with some honest to god Petyr Baelish FEEELS. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Fic #2 In my PUUUURGE!
> 
> I've been fiddling with this one for some time now, it's a bit different from what I usually write. But I like to experiment with style.
> 
> This fic is inspired by the French Film 3 Hearts. I recommend if you're an addict to tragic melancholy and feels...which I am!


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